Best Drawer Poems
Medals in a cupboard drawer
Testament of what went before
With his enemy held no score
Boy's turned men, played at war
In blooded field or muddy trench
Gaunt eye's stared from stench
Bone and boot so weary tread
At cannons call prayers are said
From shell holes came human cries
Voices lost in shrapneled skies
Shellshocked victims tied to post
Frontline justice feared the most
Boy's to men , men to ghosts
Not the story that glory boasts
Given the orders did blindly follow
To end all wars a promise hollow
And into the drawer another set
A different time, the same regret
The cost of war just wont relent
The family grieve and loss lament
Son loses father then loses son
How many times since time begun
Still soldiers, sailors children play
From toys to guns a price will pay
in most human endeavors
there are those items that just
don't quite fit in with the rest of the projects
from batteries to rubber bands
to unused takeout menus there is
only one place to find what you need
none other then the
family junk drawer
thats right folks !
the junk drawer
we really need to clean that
Out !
from mama to me now
I 've taken over the junk drawer
just call me a pack rat LOL
My socks are on vacation
For sandals rule the day,
Since summer’s heat demands
That unclad toes be on display.
They rest in little bundles
In their drawer where they await
The flipping of the calendar
Onto a cooler date.
I can’t say that I miss them;
My feet feel better bare
But when the weather changes,
They’ll be there for me to wear.
My junk drawer
Too small for so much
Plenty of silverware
Inside it's container
Too many napkins to count
In pile and a few scattered about
Which seem to disappear
Way too fast
A pizza cutter somewhere
Long, sharp knives
Of which most are missing
The last one used for slitting plastic
For frozen dinners
A spatula or two
An ice-cream scoop
Not used enough!
Two can openers
One of which is broken
Enough material
For just one person!
One sweater to help keep you warm and cozy at all times
One diary to keep notes of all your dreams and longings
One handkerchief to dry your eyes whenever you cry
A hand held recorder so he can remember all you say to him
A poem called The Drawer of a Decent Soul that he practices
One book from the chicken soup of the soul series at least
One bottle of glue to patch us together so we never part
Found the old New Testament
given to me in grade school,
and I always meant to read it
growing up, until I didn't,
storing it away
in a bottom dresser drawer
with some grainy pictures
I printed off the internet
when I was in high school,
leftover screws from shelves
I no longer own,
old love poems for people
I barely remember now-
all of it junk
that once had enough meaning
to be kept,
which proves our souls more
than I want to admit.
From: Second Hand Salvation (Published 2023)
A copy of the poem " A Drawer of a Decent Soul" that she practices
A copy of the poem " A Drawer of a Decent Man" that she utulizes
A stapler to hold together things with all her power and strength
One remote control to a robot with three hands since two is not enough
One tube of muscle cream for her back for carrying many extra loads
Three folders filled with creative ideas to help provide for the family
One alarm clock set in intervals to make sure her tasks are complete
One bag of honesty to myself and others at all times
Tape to fix other peoples wounds and keep them together
One box of kleenex to wipe their tears completely away
Paper to write down what needs to be done to help others
One pen to scribble down words they think were not heard
One pack of batteries for energy to always be their for them
One flashlight to guide others if they get lost in the dark
I am cleaning out my junk drawer
It's been on my list to do
My junk is over-flowing
It's now long past over-due
Inside is my collection
Of things I sometimes use
Bits and nails and thumbtacks
And a dozen odd-size screws
There's a hammer and some pliers
And a pair of worn-out snips
Rubber bands in many sizes
And a load of paper clips
Two broken pair of glasses
That I should have thrown away
I put them there three years ago
Swore I'd fix them both one day
A dull blade pair of scissors
And an un-used long nail file
Pens and pencils and two note pads
And an eraser, look-like crocodile
I keep finding things inside my drawer
That I swear I've never used
This junk has left me addle-pated
Oh my God, I'm so...(((CONFUSED)))
'Form J- Just Write Me A New Poem' Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
3/22/2022
i selected a drawer, one deep enough to accommodate.
i looked over my remembrances, it was getting late.
i took them and packed them away slowly.
letting myself remember and feel wholly.
there was reluctance on my part,but it had to be done.
so much had happend... i had so much love, passion & fun.
i placed them carefully in a draw marked sacred.
i realized that my life is what i had made it.
the draw is closed with my heart's iron clad seal.
to please keep this draw closed, unopened for real.
i reflect slowly on what was a beautiful dream.
i was the "grand dame" with a dynamic man who i deemed.
a dream of passion where feelings ran deep.
but for him, he concluded the passion was to steep.
the man, you know, the one i deemed so -
he vanished, disappeared it was a “no go”.
so this fabric of pleasure and pain,
had been folded deftly never to be opened again.
in my car while driving i hear songs, the shower, the mall ...
it all triggers thoughts of him that are anything but small.
the separation is sad, lonely, and filled with pain.
so desperately i try not to let my dreams play again.
but i am helpless or at least that is how it seems.
the draw slowly glides open and out comes my dreams.
against all my restraints and seals and pain.
there he is emerged, playing with my heart again.
i push the memories back down as hard as i can.
but a song, a word, a feeling, living my life;
the draw opens he is there....
and the cycle begins again.
I’m the unopened container, pliers and blades,
I’m the beaters, light globe and egg ring.
I’m a can opener, small strainer, straw and a hammer,
I’m all that you need, everything.
If you ever need pens that don’t work,
Broken pencils, used candles, cotton thread.
Then come and see me any time of the day,
I’ll give you those pills for your head.
But be careful don’t annoy me or treat me too bad,
I’ll be everything that you never need.
I’m the second drawer down in your own little kitchen,
The storage space for your small bag of weed.
I cannot read small labels, my eyes don’t see so well
The labels on my spices: a culinary hell.
I came up with a system; it’s pretty hard to beat,
‘Cuz most of what I cooked before was not so good to eat.
With pictures on the label, it’s easier to know;
‘Cuz peppermint and barbecue simply do not go.
Anise is a garbage can, I kick it to the curb
Basil, I called Rathbone, a swashbuckling herb
Bay leaves, Otis Redding, sitting on the Dock
My chives, the brothers Bee Gee, ‘cuz it’s the one that talks
Cayenne, picture of a large teepee, ‘cuz man, it's real in tents
I cinnamon Jamaica way; I haven’t seen him since
Allspice, a real Transformer, it sure does add a spark
Cocoa, murdered cuckoo bird, because that’s really dark
Cardamom’s a driver’s license, to check if she’s young or old
Chili is a heavy coat for days that it's too cold
Curry is a horse’s brush, for favorite Indian dish
Garlic, a nasty tongue, to taste an ugly fish
I haven’t any Ginger, ‘cuz Mary Ann’s the best
Lemon peel, a self portrait, to scrape with zeal and zest
Sage, a wizened wizard, ‘cuz they give fatherly advice
Hibiscus, pics of flowers, because it smells really nice
Mustard, a colonel, in the library, with a pipe of lead
Pepper, a peck, what Peter picked (or so they said)
Nutmeg is a soccer ball that’s passed between the legs
Paprika, scary Lucifer, atop my deviled eggs
Parsley just has Elvis, for when you need a shake
Pumpkin Spice, a perfect pie, the kind you want to bake
Thyme, can’t keep too much on hand, the liner notes from Styx
Cajun rub, a pair of legs; it’s got a healthy kick
Tarragon, a house on fire, the smell when Scarlett’s mansion burned
Caraway, Mav from Top Gun; okay, it's breath, I'm unconcerned.
Tartar, from the Enterprise, Kirk wearing Scottish kilt
Pepper flakes, Quixote's windmill; you'll need the fan 'cuz it's full tilt.
Yeah, some of these are pretty bad, but cooking is more fun.
My family sure is happier; they love a tasty pun!
Each morning I wake
eager to search online;
the latest news,
messages from friends,
funny videos on U-Tube,
or love notes from relatives living
in Belleville, Casper, or Sausalito.
The top-drawer of any morning
is listening to a familiar voice
pronounce names of notable writers,
born on said date, and list
their quirks, achievements,
titles of books written, etc.
Each day, he reads a poem
chosen to inform, comfort,
or entertain his audience,
the timbre of his voice as soothing
as a soft rain falling on a canopy.
I wait for his closing message,
and my voice joins his farewell
as we say these words together,
“Be well, do good work,
and keep in touch.”
No morning is complete
without The Writer's Almanac.
The Drawer
In the drawer in the kitchen,
there is a bit of this,
some of that,
and everything else!
Well, nearly so.
There is tape, and string,
and a funny thing...
there is no name at all to describe.
It came with the pizza and never left in the trash.
There is a screw, a nut... no bolts for now,
several nails,
a nail file,
and pieces of a broken fingernail too.
"Why not throw it out?" I shout.
No one listens.
I made rolls this morning.
They came in a can.
There was frosting included too.
Another... small plastic "perfect" dish
I will include with the fish sauce packets
from last week...
and together they will join
the membership of the drawer...
to be included in the chaos
that is our lives.
Every family has one
a spinster aunt with lacquered hair
tidy and quiet , mysterious and dark
you wouldn’t cross her, you wouldn’t dare
As a child, I always feared her
Aunt Agnes was her name
when we would pay a visit
she would invariably exclaim
Don’t you touch the middle drawer
There was a cupboard in the kitchen
it contained three little drawers
what was kept there was a secret
must be witches’ brew for sure
I never did learn of its’ contents
but I’ll not forget its lure
nor Aunt Agnes’ words of warning
Don’t you touch the middle drawer